So not only is Kid older today, but tomorrow is round number 4 of “Let’s break the laws of physics using RQ’s girl parts”. And it’s the fucking communist invasion for the 2nd time this month (I knew something was up when the last one was only 5 days long. But hoped that I was just getting a reprieve from the semi-regularly scheduled slaughter. But NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO)

Anyways, since I am now officially a pro at pre IUD prep (and after throwing a screaming fit- will getting a surgical dose of valium) I didn’t even ask when the pharmacist handed me a bottle of misoprostol. I got this down. I know what’s up. You stick it in your bits the night before and according to legend your cervix magically opens the next day to reveal the lost city of El Dorado!

But that’s not what my instructions say. I actually had to go look the word “buccally” up because despite my fairly impressive vocabulary, I had not fucking idea what the hell that was. It turns out that this time I am to stick the pills in my cheeks (face not ass) and wait for them to dissolve. This sounds like some kind of hell. I will be sitting in my office tomorrow, cheeks puffed with gross, gritty drugs, bleeding from my vadge, feeling like a colony of smurfs is waging a spears and mace war in my uterus, counting down the hours till I can sign my damn consent for to have the jaws of life used on my bits, so that I can take the magic pills that will probably knock me the fuck out for the entire ordeal.

(I want a prize for longest run on sentence in a blog post, please).

If 4th time isn’t the charm- I am selling my uterus to the highest bidder. It causes me massive issues- but it’s super fucking fertile. TAKE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Kid is seventeen. Holy fucking shit! JesusMaryAndJosephChrist! I don’t know how this happened. But I am intensely proud of the person he has become. He is sweet and funny and kind. He’s a little bit (a lot) of a hermit. But I think the social stuff is something he will figure out once he’s out of the house. I know and love a bunch of late bloomers on the social stuff and they are fine.

This is such a weird time, this beginning of the end of childhood. I am not quite sure what to do with myself. And I have to wait to see what Kid will do before I can plan. I think that is what is weird. Years of being the one in the driver’s seat and then WHAMO! and they are driving off on their own. Will Kid stay home for long? Will he want to go to college straight away (he’s starting at community college so he can plan as late as he wants) or will he want to work for awhile first. That was one of my favorite people’s plan and she’s now getting her PhD in math and awesomeness. I don’t know. He doesn’t know. He has to make the decision for himself and all I can do is give advice. Weird. Sofaking weird.

And weirder still is the fact that I am more, what exactly is the way to describe it. It’s like the little fluttery fear and excitement you get standing on a diving board while deciding to jump or not. I am more outwardly that than the Kid is. He’s all cool now. He’s mastering my raised eyebrow of doom. He would think that I was being silly and ridiculous for being all WOO WOO 17!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My baby is 17. I am still not sure how that happened.

Since he says the same damn shit I’ve been saying about charity but better.

And just FYI- since Oscar Wilde is so quoted in this. You all should know that Wilde’s mom was an Irish republican (the good kind of republican).

Boyfriend and I just got back from a weekend trip to Canadia! Land of hockey and universal healthcare! Here are some things I learned in my 3 days there:

1) I got some serious, hardcore weird looks for ordering a mimosa with brunch in the fancy hotel restaurant. Like I blew the waitress’ mind by ordering it.

2) But you can can get booze in coffee shops? (Grower’s pear hard cider is the fucking bomb!)

3) For as much as they say it rains in Seattle, British Columbia takes that to a whole new level. I kept joking that we were actually driving on the ocean floor. MY hair was wet for 3 days straight. I didn’t dry out until I got back today.

4) That whole “Canadians are super nice” thing is true (in my experience- ymmv).

5) Small mountain towns are the same everywhere. Everything closes at 8pm except that one bar where the diehards hang out.

6) I would sell my soul to spend 24 hours a day in a hot spring. I spent some time trying to figure out if a plastic ball, like the kind hamsters roll around in, could be engineered to be full of hot water so that I could just roll around in that all day. The couple of hours we spent soaking may be the longest pain free period I have had in 3 or 4 years.

7) Canadians have succumbed to the under-cooked sausage trend. Seriously people- you need to fucking sear the skin or sausage is just mushy and weird. COOK THAT SHIT!

8) Canadian tv is just as bad as American tv, but instead of channels with people screaming about sports and channels with people screaming about politics, you mostly have channels of people talking about hockey and people talking about politics.

That’s all I got, for now. Maybe next time I’ll get in a visit to Tim Horton’s and try to explain what the fuss is about.